


Falling Apart

by Smokeybluebrookelyn107



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Boys In Love, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Feels, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Topping, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, POV Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Prostitution Roleplay, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Top Steve Rogers, semi public blow jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29239932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smokeybluebrookelyn107/pseuds/Smokeybluebrookelyn107
Summary: Times can get tough in 1940's New York and sometimes everybody needs a friend to lend them a helping mou...ahem...hand.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	Falling Apart

**Author's Note:**

> What’s important is this is all @this-is-a-job-for-vesemir‘s fault for giving me Ideas™ with an incorrect quote post on Tumblr. I haven't figured out how to do links on here yet so, if you want to see it (or if you just want to drop in and say hi) come find me on there - @smokeybluebrooke-lyn.
> 
> Be warned, there is absolutely no build up, no foreplay just pure fluffy, filth. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Steve groaned as the tip of his cock hit the back of Bucky's throat.

It had been almost a year since they made their arrangement. When money was getting tight for one of them the other would lend a hand.

Or more specifically a mouth.

It had started off as a running joke, the eventual farcical result of discussing all the things that they could do to earn some cash when times got hard.

Then one day it had just happened.

Bucky had been between jobs and after sending everything he had home to help support his Ma and sisters, he'd been ten short on his rent with a cantankerous old landlord waiting to turf him out even over an amount so relatively small. Having just sold his first painting to some guy called Stark who had given him what was, in his opinion, well over the odds for it, Steve was feeling unusually flush. He'd tried to push a twenty in Bucky's hand for a week, enough for rent and food until the final pay check from his last job came through. However, the stubborn ass wasn't having any of it.

One night Bucky was walking Steve home from the evening art class that he had just started teaching. He walked Steve everywhere when he wasn't working; to "keep you outta trouble", he said. That just happened to be the night that Steve's frustration at Bucky's refusal to accept his help boiled over. He'd stopped dead in the street, holding out the bill that felt like it was slowly burning a hole in his pocket.

'Buck, just take it already!'

Bucky had shaken his head.

'We've been over this. I don't want nobodies charity, not even yours. Besides -'

'So do me a favour. Earn it. But for the love of God just take it!'

The next thing Steve knew he was being pulled down the nearest alley, Bucky's hand carefully but firmly wrapped around his elbow.

His first thoughts had been to remember: _oh yeah, I got beat up down here last month._ Then every coherent thought in his head had fallen clean out of his ass when Bucky took him into the deepest, darkest corner and dropped to his knees right there on the rain-damp ground.

'This what you're gettin' at, Stevie? Huh?'

Was he kidding?

What Steve had in mind was more along the lines of re-hinging his wardrobe door that had fallen off the week before or maybe repairing the leaky gutter outside his bedroom window that kept him up when the rain fell like a flood. Still, he would have been lying to say that seeing the boy - now man - that he had loved and fantasised about his entire life on his knees and waiting for him wasn't turning him inside out.

If Bucky saw Steve's distraction he hadn't call attention to it, just looked up at him with those intense blue eyes and a challenging flick of his fingers. 'Then, come on. Show me what you got.'

And joke or not, Bucky of all people should know better than to challenge whether Steve Rogers had the guts to do anything. In half a second flat he'd wrestled his belt and trousers open and buried his half hard dick in his best friend's mouth.

Steve couldn't be sure if he’d heard Bucky moan or if it was just an echo of his own bouncing off the narrow walls but he felt the reverberations of it run right through him. He'd never...not with anyone...and the soft, warm wetness of Bucky's mouth was worlds away from the rough, dry drag of his own palm.

For what felt like forever all he could do was stand there, legs shaking, fingers gripping on to the ridges in the brickwork behind Bucky's head for dear life. Too overwhelmed by not only what he was feeling but who he was feeling it with, he’d been secretly relieved when Bucky had taken the lead.

The first teasing glance of tongue over the underside of Steve's shaft had him chewing on his own bony knuckles in an attempt to stay quiet and that task only became more difficult as he’d felt himself swell to near painful proportions.

Without the luxury of time and the possibility of anyone walking by at any moment, it had been a hurried affair. Steve had tried not to think about how Bucky seemed to know exactly what he was doing, how every purposeful flick of his tongue, glide of his lips and hollowing of his cheeks could be so utterly perfect as to have Steve feeling like he was about to burst out of his own skin.

Had done this before or simply had enough girls on their knees for him that he knew exactly how to please as he had himself been pleased?

The sour thought of the love of his life with anyone else had been knocked out of his head just as the breath was knocked out of his lungs.

With hands grasping at Steve's shirt, Bucky had drawn him in as deep as he could go and swallowed around his aching tip. Steve had never come so hard or fast in his life and the certainty that he never would again unless it was for Bucky, only for Bucky, grew as he painted the other man's throat with a desperate whine and a bone racking shudder. His vision blacked out, his chest heaved, all the little aches and pains dulled with the euphoria easing his tense muscles into a liquid-like state.

Grumbling a sensitised protest as Bucky released him with a slow glide of his lips, Steve's brain had begun chugging into gear, again.

Would things be awkward between them now?

Would a life time of friendship come to an end over a dumb game of lust-fuelled chicken?

What would he do if Bucky never wanted to see him again?

Steve had been almost too scared to look down but he couldn't let his renowned guts fail him now. He would have to face the music sooner or later and he knew from bitter experience that pulling the dressing off a wound was better done quickly.

And damn, if what he’d seen hadn't nearly had him rock hard, again.

Shamelessly holding Steve's gaze, Bucky had licked his glistening lips with the tip of his tongue, that steely look in his eyes flickering with something that had looked suspiciously like smug satisfaction.

Then he'd reached up and taken the bill, crushed by Steve's clenched fist, between two fingers before straightening it out and folding it into his inside pocket.

Bucky had taken a moment to fasten up every button, re-clasp the buckle of his belt and Steve had been powerless to do anything but let him get on with it.

How was being dressed afterwards so unbelievably alluring?

It didn't make sense except that everything Bucky did was alluring so, perhaps it shouldn't have been all that surprising.

The walk home had been a silent one. By the time they made it to his door, Steve had been ready to tear his own hair out, caught between the need to clear the air and the memories that the wet spots on Bucky's knees reignited. However, Bucky had just put his hand on Steve's shoulder and muttered a:

'G'night, Stevie.'

Same as always.

Gawking as Bucky walked away, he hadn't known how to respond.

_G'night, Stevie?_

Was that _it_?

Whether sensing his friend's confusion or simply because it was a very Bucky thing to do, he’d turned around just before he hit the top of the stairs, tapping the pocket that was twenty dollars richer. 'Next time's my shout.'

Then he was gone.

Those words had haunted Steve. From then on, he couldn’t even think about Bucky without having to immediately excuse himself - no matter where he was - and take care of business.

He wanted him so bad it hurt.

But what he'd wanted more than anything was to repay the "favour".

It took weeks for him to pluck up the courage to go to the much bigger man, armed with the half-truth that his finances weren't treating him quite so kindly as they had. Bucky had a new job by then and as he was the foreman to boot, it was the best paying work that he'd ever had so, Steve hadn’t felt quite so bad about bending the truth a little.

He’d already chickened out of making his move three times when Bucky dropped in out of the blue to take him to lunch. By the time he was done dawdling, Steve had closed his front door and fiddled with his keys for a full minute but he’d be damned if he was going to do it, again.

'Actually, Buck, I'm kinda...short...right now.'

'Yeah, what else is new?'

The playful shove had nearly knocked Steve sideways. Though Bucky could fuss over him, he'd never treated him like he was going to break and it was one of the countless reasons that Steve loved him.

Any worry that Bucky might have been deliberately trying to put him off had died almost instantly. He was a lot of things but a good liar wasn't one of them. His eyes always gave him away no matter how hard he tried.

'Not what I meant, Jerk,' Steve had replied with a much less effective shove back.

Bucky had just looked back at him, curiously confused. Then the penny had dropped straight through those expressive eyes as his mouth had opened in a silent:

_Oh!_

Steve had watched his friends demeanour shift, focusing into that same intense gaze as before. It lingered over him a little longer as though needing to be sure that the statement was truly what it seemed. Then without breaking eye contact, he'd pressed one finger to the unlocked door and slowly - so, so slowly - pushed until it had creaked wide open.

Steve hadn't thought that blue eyes could go so black but all he knew was that if he saw nothing but them until the day he died, he could die happy.

Turning back into the apartment, he’d trusted Bucky to follow. The second the dead bolt had slid into place, Steve grabbed him by his tie and pulled him through to the bedroom. The half-shocked, half-smiling look on Bucky’s face as he had pushed him down onto the the bed would be one more thing to taunt him but God, if it wasn't worth it.

For fear of his own clumsiness and inexperience, he had taken advantage of the privacy and worked in his own sweet time. And it turned out to be the right call though, not for the reasons that he might have originally thought.

By the time Steve had undone Bucky's belt and parted the opened fabric of his slacks, the guy was losing his mind.

'Damn it, Steve. You're killin' me over here!'

However, his tone hadn't been irritated at least, not in the negative sense. This was something different, something that Steve couldn't deny that he wanted to see more of. Watching his lifelong friend tense and writhe and moan and, _beg_ was more potent than morphine. All because he had Bucky Barnes at his mercy, all because Bucky was willingly _giving_ that to him.

Imbued with unexpected confidence, Steve had planted his palm on Bucky’s chest when he propped himself up on his elbows and gave him the full force of his puppy dog stare. ‘Stevie...come on...’

‘Quit whinin’ or I’ll stop.’ It was a low whisper, a test of the waters and it had been well worth the risk.

Bucky’s eyes rolled back in his head as he let Steve push him down against the covers. He could have easily overpowered him if he’d wanted to but that he didn’t, that he allowed Steve to overpower _him_ with nothing but words and light, teasing touches...

That had felt like something special.

He hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on that too much. “Special” made it sound too much like love. For Steve it was, always had been but having that love returned felt like too much to hope for, especially with the parade of girls that threw themselves at Bucky at every given opportunity. Having his whole heart seemed like nothing but a fantasy that couldn’t happen and if that was the case, then he had to live with that. However, if he couldn’t have anything else, he would own Bucky’s pleasure if it was the last thing he did. 

Bucky’s back had arched off of the bed at the first touch of Steve’s lips to the base of his cock. Refusing to rush, Steve didn't only put his observant artists eye to good use, he’d listened for every hitched breath, felt for every ripple of muscle, caressed every individual spot that he’d found until he knew what made Bucky so wild that he was pushed to the edge of his sanity. Once he had the measure of the man beneath him, he’d shown no mercy, assaulting every newly discovered sweet spot with all the vigour and determination that his body could give.

With a shout that might have left Steve’s neighbours talking, Bucky came in Steve’s mouth and he’d had no trouble swallowing every drop. When he pushed himself up on to his knees, his joints ached and his jaw felt sore from more than an hour leaning over his muse. Though, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it when the vision that greeted him would be painting his dreams crimson for years to come.

Bucky’s clothes were dishevelled and in disarray, his slicked back hair messy as a birds nest. His forearm rested over his eyes, lips red raw from being chewed on. A bright streak of pink blanketed his neck and what little of his chest was visible beneath his loosened tie and unbuttoned collar. It had taken near ten minutes for him to stop shaking and when he eventually looked up, Steve had been sure that he could see the faintest traces of dried moisture running down from his eyes and along his temples.

Then he gave Steve a drunk looking grin and reached into his pocket.

‘Earned that, Punk,’ he said, crushing the bill into a ball with one hand and flicking it at Steve’s head.

Where the first time had been tinged with shock, that time had been cocooned in laughter, especially when Bucky had to cook up some story about how he’d tripped up and hurt his leg to explain a) why he was late back to work and, b) why he couldn’t walk in a straight line. And something about knowing the truth, that Bucky was out there wearing the effects of Steve’s efforts and nobody being any the wiser filled Steve with an odd sense of pride.

After that, they rarely went more than a couple of weeks without one of them being broke enough to need to do a little moonlighting. Bucky had his Ma and his sisters to think about; shoes, bills, school books. Even on better money it wasn’t hard to end up short near the end of the month. Steve on the other hand had been selling more paintings to Stark and his well-off buddies and, teaching more classes. With only himself to worry about, he wasn’t under quite the same pressure. However, his doctor’s bills were never cheap and when they came through it wasn’t a total lie to say that he’d taken a big hit because of them. So, he would crawl back to Bucky with another half-truth on his lips and then secretly tuck away the twenty he’d earned for safe keeping until Bucky needed it back.

The Unofficial Bucky Barnes Savings Account, an emergency fund kept to one side so that Bucky couldn't give it away when his good nature was inclined to get the better of him. That was how Steve liked to think of it, anyway. He would have added a few more bills to it if he’d thought that Bucky would take them but that argument had been what had led them here. Steve hadn’t wanted to push his luck.

As time had gone on Steve had grown in confidence and, with Bucky still insisting on walking him home from his art class, that alley had seen more than one encore. Sometimes it was slow and tormenting, sometimes fast and frenzied depending on where they were, how much time they had and how the mood was striking. However, what became an increasingly common accessory to their secret arrangement was Steve taking charge.

A year on, Steve had no idea how he hadn’t realised before how much he needed this; to be in control, to have such complete responsibility for another person...

No, not another person.

_Bucky._

Bucky had spent their entire lives taking care of Steve whether it was helping out when he was sick or pulling him out of yet another back alley scrap with some guy twice his size. Now, he could take care of Bucky in a way nobody else could.

And to look at Bucky now, on his knees in Steve’s kitchen looking so beautifully fucked out as he let his oldest friend have his wicked way with his mouth, Steve knew that he wasn’t off base that Bucky was completely on board with the whole thing.

Another groan, this time from Bucky, set Steve’s spine on fire. Every time that he nudged the back of his throat it lit them both up, had done ever since that first time. Lately, however, it hadn’t quite been enough to sate Steve. Something had bubbled up inside of him, urging him to take Bucky as thoroughly as he could, every time he could.

Turned out that little guy from Brooklyn wanted to make his mark on more than just canvas.

He wanted to see the bruises blooming on Bucky’s knees, leave his lips swollen from overuse. He wanted pull at that soft hair, see him bleary eyed and drooling while Steve fucked that perfect face so long and so hard that he would be too hoarse to give anybody, let alone any girl who fluttered her eyelashes at him, the time of day.

‘Shhhh, Doll,’ Steve grunted as Bucky whined around him, tears - which, Steve had come to learn were the sure fire tell that his best guy had hit that adorably blissed out place where only Steve could take him - streaming down his cheeks, ‘don’t want people to hear, do you? Or do you?’

And there had been another turn up for the books.

Steve Rogers had a fucking mouth on in him and, boy, did he love to use it. ‘That what you want? Y’want everybody to know how you let the littlest guy in town ruin that pretty mouth’a yours? Huh?’

Another whimper vibrated through him and Steve knew, one more would send him clean over the edge.

And that was no bad thing. ‘That’s right, Sweetheart...do what you're best at...take it...all of it.’

Apparently, taking that as permission, Bucky wrapped both arms tight around Steve’s waist and wouldn’t let go as he sucked and swallowed around him like a dying man in the desert. ‘Oh, fuck...’

Clinging onto the kitchen table to anchor himself, Steve couldn’t do anything but let go as moan after moan, hummed through his bones from the man at his feet. Fingers rooted in Bucky’s hair, he held him in place until he’d taken everything Steve could give before carefully easing him off. He couldn’t let go yet even if he would ever be crazy enough to want to. With Bucky still off on a cloud somewhere, he would need every ounce of Steve’s support until he came down so, he pulled him closer, holding his head against his stomach as his breathing steadied. 

Reaching shakily into his pocket, he pulled out the battered twenty dollar bill and held it to Bucky’s cheek.

For a while he'd thought that the identical little tears and creases were just the biproduct of being handled and shoved in so many wallets the same way, no matter how many times they changed hands. Bills tended to wear in the same ways, tear in the same places. However, as time had marched on, he realised that this particular twenty hadn’t suffered at the hands of many but the hands of just two. The damage had become so extreme and obvious that there was no way that any two bills could look _that_ identical. And that could only mean that Steve hadn’t been the only one stashing away the same one that he'd been given, only to hand it back at a later date.

A goofy little grin tried to break over Bucky’s lips. He was still so disorientated that he almost poked himself in the eye trying to reach for the bill in Steve’s hand before giving up and closing his fingers around Steve’s instead.

‘Can’t believe...I let ya kiss my...Ma...with that mouth,’ he rasped and the sound gave Steve goose bumps.

‘You’re one to talk,’ Steve hummed back with soft but firm tap to Bucky’s cheek.

God, he sounded drunk when he giggled like that, looked it when he nuzzled at Steve’s ribs like a sleepy kitten.

‘Gotta...get back to...work.’

‘Not ‘til you’re cleaned up, you don’t. What’re people gonna say if the boss turns up lookin’ like he’s been played like a trumpet?’

Bucky let out a long, loud hum of a sigh.

‘Don’t...care.’

Steve felt his insides turn to mush. He wanted so desperately to ask him; did he not care because he felt the way Steve did, because he wanted to wear his love like a borrowed sweater for all the world to see? Or did he not care because he was Bucky and he was shameless and, to hell with what anybody thought about that?

But he didn’t.

Couldn’t.

Fucking each other senseless over and old promise and twenty dollars was one thing. That could be anything they wanted. But the moment the L-word came into play, that could only ever be what it was and to lose Bucky like that with no hope of ever getting him back, even as a friend?

Steve would never recover from that and he knew it.

‘C’mon,’ he said as Bucky came around enough to grasp at the money and manage to hold on to it. ‘Got a washcloth with your name on it.’

It didn’t but it might as well have. Steve always kept it to one side, another little thing that he saved especially for when Bucky needed it. He sat on the kitchen table while Steve gently cleaned his still-flushed face. It had turned into a little routine whenever they found themselves getting down to business at Steve’s place before either of them had noticed it happening. Today, however, Bucky was taking Steve in much more speculatively than usual.

‘S’up?’

‘Nothin’,’ Steve shrugged as he wiped the last tearstain from Bucky’s cheek.

He felt himself observed for another moment before his friend confirmed his own assessment.

‘Nah, somethin’s up. You comin’ down with somethin’, again?’

Steve stopped Bucky's hand with his own when he reached up to feel at Steve's forehead.

'I'm fine,' he insisted, 'just a little tired.'

Another moment passed as Bucky narrowed his eyes. 'I'm fine.'

Convinced or not, he dropped it anyway, getting to his feet when Steve tossed the cloth into the wash bowl.

'I'll see ya tomorrow night,' he said, making his way to the door.

'Class is cancelled tomorrow.'

Maybe he was just hoping too hard to see the disappointment that seemed to flicker behind Bucky's baby blues.

'Right...uh...Friday, then.'

'Sure. Friday.'

For hours after Bucky left, Steve sat and stewed.

Why would Bucky be giving him the same twenty back time and time again?

Was there even a chance that he had been doing the exact same thing as Steve all this time?

Could he feel the same way?

Steve had kept his mouth shut for years for fear of pushing Bucky away and this was the first time that he had ever been worked up enough to feel like not knowing might just be worse.

Nearly wearing a hole in his floor pacing back and forth like a caged animal, it was almost eight before he couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed his coat and scarf, thinking he would take a walk and clear his head but the second he set foot out of the door, his feet had known exactly where they were going.

 _Just turn around_ , the fearful inner voice that had kept him so quiet for so long commanded, _go home and just pretend you never noticed._

Still, his feet remained undeterred. They turned deaf ears to his inner turmoil and and before Steve knew it, he was standing outside Bucky's building and knocking at the door.

It was that aforementioned cantankerous landlord that opened it. It hadn't occurred to Steve what might happen if the man refused to let him in but upon stating who he was there to see, he just shrugged and grunted:

'Third floor. Number seventeen.'

Not that he needed the directions but he wasn’t about to complain.

Three flights of stairs hadn't been kind on Steve's lungs but for once asthma was the least of his worries. Thankfully, he was having a good run with it so, he could afford to be a little blasé. When he got to Bucky's door he must have stood with his fist raised for several minutes as he gathered up the courage to knock.

He rapped his knuckles against the heavy wooden door hard enough to give himself bruises but so what? By the time he left, he would likely be nursing much worse in much less easily treated places.

‘Steve?’

Bucky answered the door in just his slacks and his vest, shameless as always. His expression lit up for a moment before falling into one of concern when he took in the man standing in his doorway.

‘Buck, we need to talk.’

Face falling even further, he froze for moment before turning to the side to let Steve pass.

‘Sure...um...come on in.’

The apartment was small and when Bucky had first got it, it had looked more like a hovel than a living space. He'd put a lot of work into making it feel homely and it showed. Even since the last time Steve had been here which, really wasn’t so long, he’d made some improvements; rug, couch, lampshades. All were brand new and though they weren’t by any means the most expensive, they certainly would have cost a dollar or two.

Padding in barefoot behind Steve, Bucky leaned against the back of the couch and ran his hand through his damp, un-styled hair. ‘So, what...uh...what did you wanna...talk about?’

Steve stuffed his hands in his pockets. Apart from Bucky’s parting statement that first time, they had never actually talked about it. Trying to find the words felt like contemplating breaking a mirror knowing that you might break your own fate along with it.

‘Have you...’

Jesus, how could he fearlessly call out some guy knowing that he was going to get his ass kicked when he couldn’t ask his best friend a damn question?

Opting for the pulling off the dressing approach, Steve just spilled it before he could change his mind. ‘Have you been giving me back the same twenty?’

Bucky’s eyebrows quirked into a confused furrow as though Steve had just asked him something like: “have you noticed the sky’s blue?”.

‘Yeah.’

Yeah.

Just _yeah_?

‘For...for how long?’

‘Since the beginning.’

If Steve’s jaw dropped any lower it would fall clean off.

All this time Bucky had been holding back what Steve was giving him?

From that very first time?

What about...?

Unable to process the barrage of questions flooding his brain, the only word he actually managed to get out was:

‘Why?’

Now, Bucky was starting to look really confused.

‘S’all part of the game.’

A long moment passed before Steve managed to remember to breath, again. Bucky came rushing over when he started pacing.

‘Hey, what’s wro -’

‘This has all been a _game_ to you?’

The emotional force of Steve’s statement knocked Bucky back a step.

‘We were...I thought...’

Then the realisation hit him like kick in the gut. ‘ _You_ thought...? Oh my God.’

Standing there in a shared state of shock and a joint chorus of “oh my God”s, Steve just wanted the ground to swallow him up.

‘I gotta get outta here,’ he mumbled, heading for the door.

‘Steve, wait!’ Bucky replied, catching up to him just in time to lay his hand on the door before Steve could open it.

Silence engulfed them for...Steve didn’t even know how long...then Bucky self-consciously took his hand away from the door, backed up just enough to show that he wouldn’t try to stop him if leaving was what he really wanted. However, when he finally spoke, Steve knew that he couldn’t take another step. ‘Stevie...please...’

With a barely there nod, Steve let Bucky lead him into the kitchen, sat when he pulled out a chair for him by the dinner table. Bucky turned another chair to face him and dropped down into it, resting his elbows on his knees, clearly deliberating how to proceed.

When Steve eventually managed to meet his gaze, his friend looked as though life was about to snap him in half. However, he seemed surprised when the tone of Steve’s voice came out as concern while he addressed the thing that didn’t add up.

‘What about your rent?’

Now that the initial shock had quieted a little it was the first thing on Steve’s mind. If Bucky had been holding on to the same bill since that first time, how had he managed to pay his rent back then?

‘I got my paycheque through that mornin’. Had it covered. I was about to tell you but when you kinda cut me off talkin’ about earning it...I thought that maybe, maybe after all that time we'd been goofin' around and pullin' each other's legs, you were finally callin' me out on if I had the guts to follow through.'

With a deep sigh Bucky let his head drop and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

Had Steve imagined the muffled "maybe I was just hopin'"?

Still, there was something that he couldn't let stand that took priority over a potential trick of his ears.

Leaning down, Steve's words were softly spoken but no less assured for it.

'Buck, look at me.'

When he hesitated to respond, Steve carefully reached over and crooked his finger under his chin, gently coaxing him to do as he asked. He'd never seen Bucky look quite so lost and that he was the cause of it made him feel like the most terrible human being on the planet.

And perhaps he was. 'You think I'd goad you into somethin' like that? Is that what you think of me?'

'Did plenty of goadin’ of my own,' Bucky replied, eyeing Steve with the beginnings of that intensity building deep within the stormy blue. 'I just figured we were on the same page.'

Then that furrow returned and wrinkled his nose while he thought on that. 'If you didn't think we were playin' around, why did you keep comin' back? Why keep givin' me the same twenty all that time?'

Feeling like all the air had been punched out of his lungs, Steve struggled to answer.

Bucky had known all along.

The only person he’d been fooling was himself.

'It was the only way you'd let me take care of you.'

Understanding dawned over Bucky's features and where he'd looked lost before, now he ducked his head again, completely crestfallen. 'Steve, all the walkin' you home and stuff, I did that because I wanted to. I don't expect you to try and pay me back, okay? It's not your job to take care of me.'

It was then that Steve realised that he'd unwittingly told another half-truth and if ending up having this conversation was teaching him anything it was that it needed to stop, whatever the consequences.

'Maybe I want it to be.'

Bucky’s head shot back up, eyes wide. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but shock was probably about right. Steve already felt like he’d had his guts torn out but he’d made his bed now, there was no turning back. ‘Buck, I can’t remember a time when I haven’t wanted you and not just...not just that stuff. I want nothin’ more than to take care of you, really, properly take care of you, not because I feel like I owe you somethin’...but because I love you.’

Steve let that sink in for a moment before continuing. ‘I always have. I’m not naïve enough to think that what we’ve been doin’ and how I feel always go together, okay? It’s fine that you don’t feel the same way. I didn’t wanna lose you so, I kept my mouth shut. I still don’t want to lose you now but if you want me out of your life, I promise you’ll never see me again.’

God only knew how long Bucky sat there gawking at him before he began shaking his head, features setting into something that Steve could only read as despairing.

‘You are an actual idiot.’

Without even a split-second to contemplate the meaning of that, Steve felt himself pulled forward by his scarf. His lips collided with something soft, the scent of soap and cologne filling his senses. Brain shorting out completely, it took until Bucky pulled away for him to realise what had just happened.

Bucky’s free hand reached up and draped over the back of Steve’s neck, caressing the downy hair there with his thumb. ‘Y’know, you’re the only guy on earth who feels like he needs to have a higher purpose to get his dick wet?’ His voice, still a little raspy from their matinée, was low and drawling as he spoke. ‘And that’s one of the many reasons why I love you.’

For a moment he thought that he must have misheard him. Or maybe he was dreaming?

Could he be dreaming?

Seeming to read Steve’s mind, Bucky shook his head again, this time with a wide, ear-to-ear grin. ‘I love you, you punk.’

‘But what about...what about all those girls?’

What Steve got back nearly tore him in two.

‘I thought you didn’t want me like that,’ he said, eyes turning watery, ‘for a while I thought maybe if I tried hard enough then I could move on. And, God, did I try...but I couldn’t, Stevie. I figured, if this was the only way I could have you then I’d take it.’

Reality, truth came rushing in and Steve couldn’t help but feel himself tearing up as well. He wanted to ask if he was serious, if all this was really happening but where he shouldn’t look the gift horse in the mouth, he figured that he could get away with kissing him on it.

‘You are the dumbest, most beautiful jerk on this earth. As if I couldn’t...’

Burying his fingers in Bucky’s still bath wet hair, Steve pulled him closer and kissed him, all tongue, teeth and sloppy urgency until he was whining with desperate need.

‘Mmmm,’ Bucky grumbled when he finally pulled away so that they could breathe. ‘If you wanna take care of me so bad, why don’t you go get me some honey? I can still feel my throat.’

And there it was. Those pouty lips and puppy dog eyes wrapped up in that intense gaze that he knew all too well. Steve felt his fingers tighten just a little in Bucky’s hair as the mood dropped delightfully low.

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

With one more kiss, Steve took Bucky’s mouth with his tongue and let go of every ounce of shame that he’d ever clung onto.

‘Well, that’s not the only thing you’re gonna be feelin’ by the time I’m done with you.’

Bucky’s head fell backwards as he made a noise comparable to taking the first bite of the most delicious meal that he had ever had the joy of experiencing. Steve pulled him to his feet and dragged him towards the bedroom, stopping only to grab the requested jar of honey out of the cupboard.

‘Fuck, Stevie...m’gonna spend all night tellin’ you how much I love you.’

Steve gave him a promising smile.

‘You can try, Doll. You can try.’


End file.
